Blaine's Beautiful Tragedy
by FrostedHoodies
Summary: Blaine has suffered from fibromyalgia for five years. He is in near constant pain, is constantly fatigued and ill, but he won't let it bring him down.


Some days Blaine wakes up and he can't walk. Some days he can, but he has to use his crutches, or crawl from his bedroom to the bathroom until his muscles start cooperating again. Some days, like today, Blaine wakes up and realises that nothing is hurting and allows himself to imagine that his body has been healed overnight. Then he'll accidently bang his wrist on the cupboard door, or his cat will rub up against his legs, and pain will shoot through his limbs, resting in a dull throb at his joints and he'll remind himself how stupid he was to hope.

There are setbacks every morning but Blaine forces himself to keep going – get up off the floor, stumble to his wardrobe, baby steps, achievable goals even if they're tiny ones – because he has to get to school. He has a solo in glee club today and people and school who are waiting for him. He can't let them down and more importantly he can't let this disease beat him.

His clothing hurts him, feels like cloth chaffing on bad sun burn. Blaine can still remember his first shopping trip with Kurt. His wrists ached but Kurt was beautiful, kind and gentle and for the first time Blaine knew what it was like to walk side-by-side in public with one's boyfriend. It was fantastic. He felt so _lucky_, so _proud_ and in a dizzyingly insane moment he gripped Kurt's hand and showed everyone that he had found his special someone. Blaine rarely initiates physical contact because of the inevitable soreness that permeates his skin right down to his bones. But Kurt is an exception. Kurt has always been _the_ exception.

"You should wear more bowties and cardigans" Kurt had said happily as they walked, hand-in-hand, through the first department store.

Blaine didn't know how to say that fiddly things like that hurt him and Kurt had just looked so content in that moment that he didn't feel that he could ruin it. He let Kurt pick out the clothes and he wears them every day. When Blaine gets home he tears off his clothes, sometimes walking around in just underwear until his parents get home, or slipping into loose pants and a shirt. But he doesn't mind dressing in clothes that bother him. Some might call it vanity, but Blaine finds that life seems less bleak when he likes how he looks, how his clothes fit the contours of his body.

As he gets dressed, Blaine goes through his mantras to push down the soreness. Blaine doesn't believe that his body is him, not really. It aches and is kind of broken and tries to stop him from doing things that he wants to do. Instead he believes in his spirit and his soul and his brain. That's who he is and that's who he works to be. It's for his soul that he pushes through the pain, ignores the stabs that feels like a knife in a voodoo doll as he dances, uses the ache in his hips to sing louder, stronger, more passionately. When he's performing, he's who he wants to be. When he's alone, he's crying and broken on the couch, trying to find a position that doesn't hurt. Sometimes there aren't any. Sometimes there are and he gets into them and sleeps soundly. But never long or deeply enough.

Blaine hasn't told anyone about his condition. It's a so-called invisible illness and he likes to keep it that way. He doesn't want the pity, the stares, the questions. But most of all, Blaine doesn't tell anyone because he doesn't want to hear "but you don't look sick." He may not look sick, but he is. He just refuses to let it ruin his life.

It started five years ago. Blaine woke up in agony and no one knew why. There wasn't a mark on him and his joints and muscles showed no signs of damage. Ever since that day he has _tried_ everything from medication, to alternative treatments, to prayer. Every day he is still in pain. Blaine has seen doctors, has been poked, prodded, measured, assigned medication. It never works and now he's just given up on it all. His mother harasses him to go back to the doctor every time he has a flare up but he point-blank tells her 'no'. He doesn't want to be examined only to receive yet another box of medication that won't do anything. It's too disappointing to keep trying to find some relief. Every pill seems to hold a promise and after a week of taking them with no noticeable change, the frustration is just too much to bear. Wasting his life in pain is bad enough, he doesn't want to waste his time in doctors' offices as well.

Blaine sits in his car for as long as he can before first period, heat packs pressed to his tender points. They all seem to throb in syncopation and the sensation makes him feel sick. He rubs the heat packs hopefully, wishing they did more than take the edge off the pain, wishing that they worked for a while after he removed them. They don't. Blaine knows he will be in agony by the time he collapses into his chair in English class, smiled carefully painted on his face, eyes alive with what looks like happiness but really is sheer determination to make something of his life.

Blaine sleeps through lunch. He lies about having a test to study for and rushes out to his car, gratefully lying down over the back seat and just letting himself relax. One of the many side effects of his condition is near-constant nausea and headaches. In a typical high school student's bag you might find condoms; in Blaine's bag you would find emergency sick bags. Blaine closes his eyes – stops the world from spinning – are hears crackling static in his ears. It gets louder then softer then louder again and he feels like a train is thundering through his head. The bell rings and he sits up woozily. His throat and eyes burn and he wants to cry because he's sick and in pain. But instead he takes a few deep breathes, straightens his clothing and stumbles back to class.

He hates not being able to do the things that he wants to do. He sits in Spanish, watching his friends tap each other on the shoulder, cross their legs, shift in their seats like it's _nothing_ and feels bitter that he can't do that too. He fights that particular emotion though. It's destructive and he's a positive person. The disease won't take that away from him. There are people who are suffering so much more than him. People whose life expectancies have dropped significantly, people who can't attend school, people who can't gather themselves together every morning and at least pretend to be okay. It feels ungrateful to complain, but it doesn't change the fact that Blaine hates it. He hates that he can't do all the things that he wants to do, hates that he can't enjoy a pain-free existence. But then he remembers all the things that he _can _do and holds onto them because they give him hope.

In last period maths class Blaine's head pounds and his brain feels stuffy, like it's filled with fog. He can't focus, can't remember, can't think and he knows he needs to move because sitting still for so long is making the general ache in his body worse. The pain bleeds through his bones, his muscles, his veins and he feels restless yet exhausted at the same time. He so badly wants to sleep, even though he knows his fatigue isn't the type that can be cured by rest.

The teacher calls him up to demonstrate his answer on the board. Blaine doesn't want to; he's tired and sore and sick. But he gingerly gets to his feet because he's a good student and he's not going to let his body interfere with that. He winces as the teacher thrusts the board marker at him and grips his paper tightly, carefully copying out what he's written. Everything feels hazy and the lights are bright. He sways a little where he stands. He's just so tired. Pain makes him tired. Fighting pain makes him tired. His parents tell him not to do so much. Quit Glee Club. Quit extra-curriculars. Cut down the number of classes he takes. Blaine refuses. Quitting sounds an awful lot like giving up and Blaine won't do that. Performing is his dream and his passion and his other activities are his distraction. Blaine is in pain no matter what: he prefers to be engaged in a dance move than lying broken on the couch.

His answer is correct and his teacher pats him on the shoulder. A small 'uh' of a moan escapes him but he recovers quickly. He's done well. He's survived the school day.

Glee Club is his escape. He performs his duet with Rachel even though his body is screaming at him, Dancing is a sweet form of torture. He never feels more alive than when he is dancing, but his muscles are sore and tight. He fights it down, breathes deeply, evenly, keeps focused. They finish to applause, Rachel wrapping her arm around his shoulders and pressing her hand against his chest. The pain radiates out from under her fingertips. His eyes prickle with tears but he blinks them away, careful not to let his expression falter. Rachel doesn't know, it's not her fault, and even though it hurts Blaine likes being touched. He loves physical affection, showing it and receiving it, and it makes him so angry that his body doesn't respond well to something he craves.

"Are you okay?" Kurt tilts his head to the side, bright blue eyes concerned. Blaine gazes at him through his haze of throbbing joints and burning skin. Kurt is so _beautiful_ with his wide eyes, creamy skin and perfectly coiffed hair. He finds himself mesmerised with how Kurt clasps his hands, leans his weight on one leg which one hip jutting out to the side. He looks around at everyone, how they're stretching their muscles that don't ache, flexing their bodies that don't threaten to betray them at every moment, dance around with long, lithe movements where pain is a rare thing.

'Blaine?" Kurt asks, staring intently at him now. "Are you alright?"

_No. I'm in so much pain, Kurt. Everything hurts. It's brain-numbing, bone-aching pain and I just want it to stop. I don't want to deal with this anymore. _

Blaine hitches up his good-natured smile. "I'm fine".

Kurt smiles in return, reaching forward – Blaine's body screams in anticipated pain – and clutches Blaine's hand, squeezing it reassuringly and sending pinpricks up his arm. It feels like Kurt has pressed a sparkler to his palm and the flames keep nipping him. But the gesture is lovely and Blaine appreciates it. He stores it in his chest for safe-keeping. For nights when his whole body aches down to his bones and he lies awake, face pressed into the pillow to muffle his cries. On those nights when the glow of his alarm clock is too bright, so bright that it seems to be burning through his eyes into his brain and when the ticking seems to echo through his body, he'll remember Kurt's hand in his and it will help. Blaine feels so many unpleasant things every day that all the nice things are thrown into sharp relief and he grips onto the contrast like it's a lifeboat.

He rubs gentle, soothing circles into his aching wrists, ignores the screaming in his muscles as he bounces on his heels, shakes his arms, hoping to find something, anything that stops the pain. He finds that looking at Kurt helps. Focussing on what Kurt's doing and saying distracts him, keeps him grounded, prevents him from submitting to the discomfort.

"Do you want to come back to my place?" Kurt murmurs, stroking Blaine's hand with his thumb. "We'll be home alone for a while…" He trails off suggestively and Blaine nods, smiling shyly.

Blaine loves sex. He finds it ironic that for all the advice he has ever received, pamphlets he has been given, 'managing your condition' seminars he has attended, no one has ever mentioned how to have a fulfilling sex life when your body feels like it is destroying itself from the inside. That's okay though, because Blaine enjoys figuring it out by himself. Foreplay helps. Warm showers help relax him. Blaine likes pressing Kurt against the steamy walls, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him hungrily. Water trickles down his face, his chest, between his legs and it's just them, Kurt and Blaine, and if Blaine loses himself enough in the moment he almost doesn't notice the pain.

Almost.

Sometimes nothing can be done as his brain interprets every touch as pain, even the gentle caresses of Kurt's fingers on his thighs. Blaine closes his eyes and grits his teeth, willing himself not to cry out or pull away. Kurt would stop, if he asked him to, but Blaine doesn't want Kurt to stop. He wants the pain to stop, he wants his stupid brain to work properly and let him enjoy his boyfriend's loving contact. He wants to feel fucking normal – please let him feel normal for one day at least. Let him know what it is to not have bone-deep agony, to not walk around pretending to feel normal when he just wants to curl up and cry.

Blaine watches in combined fascination and admiration as Kurt high-kicks and plies. Kurt doesn't move with fear in his bones. Kurt isn't worried that a sharp jab of pain will bring him to his knees. Kurt's instinctive response to invitations to social gatherings isn't 'thank you for the offer, but I can't tonight' (or tomorrow, or next week, or forever). In the past, Blaine would have begged a God that he wasn't sure he believed in to fix him. Blaine doesn't believe in miracles anymore, but he believes in people, and performing, and human kindness. He believes in hope and future and dreams. He believes in taking the hand he was dealt and playing it to the best of his ability. But most of all, he believes in Kurt, and in how love can be so beautiful.


End file.
